


Voices in my head

by cemm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU-psych ward, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemm/pseuds/cemm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his return from Afghanistan John has been committed  to a psych ward for attempting suicide. He says it was all a misunderstanding. He just needed to quiet the voices in his head. Something fellow patient Sherlock Holmes knows all too well. An AU in which our dear broken boys meet under very different circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> As always don't own, don't profit just playing with them for awhile.

It is now that I spend the quiet moments of my life contemplating exactly what the fuck has happened. My hold on reality appears to be precarious at best. On good days it is non-existent. The dreams come nightly and the voices stay to play during the day light hours. I have given up normal and now spend the time attempting to convince my captors that I won't end my life. I won't, but I am not to be believed. I tell them it was an accident. I needed the voices to stop. I needed to rest...they smile,they nod and they write in that hideous manila folder. 

It really was an accident. I didn't mean to take so many...they were small. I was desperate and that was that....lying in a pool of piss and vomit...staring into the eyes of disappointment. "God-dammit what the hell were you thinking?"Obviously not I thought to myself. At least I hoped it was to myself. Even in my weakened state I knew that would be a bit not good.

"What about your family? Did you ever think about us? Do we even matter to you?"Asked my alcoholic estranged sister. It is always so nice when siblings can bond over substance abuse.

"Of course you do.....you always mattered I just couldn't....couldn't stop the noise ...the voices....the confusion"That was the part I should have kept quiet for that was what got me in the trouble. The voices always the god damned noise in my head. If they would just be quiet all would be well. I would be home. Safe, happy.....all right I'll go with home and safe. If I were happy the noises wouldn't have come. Even in my state I know that. I had been warned repeatedly. Been told what happened to  bad boys who played at being good. And now I was paying the price strapped into a bed wearing a diaper so I wouldn't try to harm myself. FUCK!


	2. Day Two

As part of my ongoing therapy I am to write in a journal to express my thoughts and feelings in a more constructive (socially acceptable) way. My therapist is named Amber and that pisses me off more than the damned journal. I am curious if it would be considered constructive to write how much her fucking name bothers me. 

Today we had group. A good time was had by all. Amber was in pink today. Of course she was. It was a fucking rainy Monday and she works in a loony bin. So pink it is. I would love to talk to her about this rather unfortunate wardrobe choice. Perhaps I could analyse her and find out exactly why in god's name she decided to wear a pink shirt with fucking kittens on it. Honest to god kittens. WTF? We are already suicidal. Do we really need more to egg us on. 

There were six of us today. Four females and 2 blokes. Overall everyone was well behaved for a Monday. I have high hopes that by Friday someone will be screaming and crying. God I hope it's Amber. We talked about why we thought we were here. I am sure it had nothing to do with us trying to end our oh so rewarding and happy lives. This will not end well for all involved. 

I was right by the end there was screaming and crying but surprisingly enough it was not Amber. Damned! Amber did pull me aside and told me that I didn't need to always be a dick. Oh but I do I told her. She then went babbling on about defense mechanisms and letting people in. About the reason I felt the need to try to kill myself. I DIDN'T FUCKING TRY TO KILL MYSELF. IT WAS A FUCKING ACCIDENT! I JUST WANTED THE FUCKING NOISE TO STOP! God i hate Amber and her fucking pink kittens. Somebody kill me now since I am apparently shit at it.


	3. Day Three

Amber was not amused with yesterday's post. She muttered something about the sanctity of life or some other bullshit. It was a joke people. A little dark humor to brighten our dreary Monday! Anyway I have been moved from group. Some nonsense about not being quite ready to share in a constructive manner. Basically I don't play well with others. I also have a new therapist, a man, a very handsome man. This could be fun. Oh Boy!

Well, it was fun until he told me that he did not date his patients. Date? What? Uh no I just wanted a quick and dirty fuck. It has been awhile doc. Not a lot of demand for injured suicidal ex Army doctors you know what I mean. Shit! There went the fun. He asked me about the noise and the voices.He asked if they were still a problem for me. I refrained from my usual comments. Still holding out hope for the fuck.

"Yes, they are still around," I replied. I told him about the constant buzzing in my brain. About the voices making comments about everything around me like a play by play account of my dreary existence. He asked how I usually would quiet the noise. 

'Drugs usually,'I answered,"uppers mostly but I must say going to war and getting shot at did a mighty fine job of shutting the fuckers up for awhile." He smiled and nodded.

I told him about growing up, about wanting to be normal, about observing people and their stupid insidious behaviors. Another smile and nod. I had begun to suspect that he really didn't fuck his patients and yet for some reason I continued my verbal vomiting. It was horrible. So sentimental. I was appalled at my behavior. This was unacceptable. Finally I pulled myself together and told him to FUCK OFF. I was done being his afternoon entertainment. He smiled, nodded and left.


	4. Day Four

I met with Dr. Hottie again today, except this time I wasn't alone. There was someone else in the room with us. A patient slouched low in his chair, fingers absently drumming on his thigh. As if he were playing an instrument....piano..no violin, based on the finger placement and callouses on his fingers. interesting. This man, no really a boy wore a scowl on his chiseled face, his grey blue eyes staring into me. It was as if he could read my deepest darkest thoughts. "Good luck with that" I scoffed.

The stranger was thin, dangerously thing..Ah drug addict then....hmm something else....ah yes of course, suicide attempt, accidental. Oh a kindred soul. Oh Dr. Hottie match making are you? He is a wee bit young but young I can work with. New Young Hottie blinked and sat up. Hmm not as young as first thought. This could get good. It had been way too long....damned shame Dr. Hottie was a no. I did love a good threesome and my god new Young Hottie had a pair of lips that would look sinful wrapped around my cock.

New Young Hottie chuckled low and smirked,"The good doctor is boringly straight and doesn't like to come out and play."  
"That's a pity," I said to him.  
"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." He said to me extending his hand.  
"John Watson"

Dr. Hottie interrupted our tet-a-tet to announce that New Young Hottie, I mean Sherlock and I were going to be our own little group. Ooh cozy.  
"Still holding on to your fantasy I see," snarked Sherlock.  
"A boy can dream, besides it will give me some material for later."I snarked back.

Dr. Hottie cleared his throat in obvious discomfort. Sherlock chuckled and Dr. Hottie blushed.   
"Oh this is going to be fun."   
"Indeed." replied my new bestie.


	5. Day Five

Dr. Hottie wasn't thrilled with mine and Sherlock's newest game. It started out as the staring game and then quickly escalated from there. Dr. Hottie had threatened to cut our therapy short if we didn't 'stop doing whatever we were doing'. Oh how I love the man's grasp of medical speak. So being the cooperative inmates that we are, we stopped the staring portion of the festivities. 

Today Sherlock was wearing black trousers that looked like they had been painted on and an equally tight dark green button front shirt that looked like he had forgotten to button most of. I was in loose pajama pants and a old t shirt. I would be lying if I hadn't picked out the shirt on purpose. The shirt was from when I played rugby as a lad. It too looked liked it was painted on. Sherlock began humming and shifted slightly in his chair, legs opening to an obscene position. Now the fun was to begin. Dr. Hottie cleared his throat in obvious discomfort. 

"John," drawled out Sherlock,"I'm bored, so bored."  
"Hmm, what shall we do my dear?"  
"I need you to entertain me"  
"Of course what would you like?"  
"I want you to fuck me." He replied while stroking his quickly hardening length. It was at this point Dr. Hottie had spit out his coffee and was coughing uncontrollably. As a medical professional I really should have helped but I was too busy laughing my ass off.

"Mr. Holmes that is not why you are here!"He sputtered."This was an opportunity for you and Dr. Watson to get to know on another."  
"Dull," replied Sherlock releasing himself.  
"Mr. Holmes, do I need to notify your brother of your refusal to cooperate in your therapy."  
"Fine, Dr. Watson is recently invalided from Afghanistan. He is an Army doctor obviously. He has trust issues, obviously. An alcoholic brother. He attempted suicide but not really. He just wanted to quiet his mind. Something I do understand. "

He rattled off in rapid fire."Oh and Dr. Watson the only thing that is the matter with you is you are bored." And with that Sherlock got up and left me and the sputtering idiot formerly known as Dr. Hottie alone and speechless.  
Just as suddenly the door swung opened and the tall curly haired sex god formerly known as Sherlock stuck his head in and asked, "Did I get anything wrong?" "Sister, I have a sister not brother." I replied "It is always something. Oh and John the address is 221B Baker Street."  
"What address?"  
"The address of our new flat."  
and with that he winked. The fucker winked at me and left. This time it was me who sputtered!


End file.
